


Interview with a Model

by Willowingends



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Flashbacks, Fluff, HP femslash fest, Post-Canon, Post-War, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 17:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16559825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowingends/pseuds/Willowingends
Summary: Daphne's worked to make a name for herself, but this is the first interview she's ever had. It makes her recall all the events that lead her to this moment, to this happiness.





	Interview with a Model

“Miss Greengrass, thank you so much for agreeing to this interview.”

 

Daphne didn't respond right away. She casually draped her lush cloak across the back of the open chair, careful not to jostle the carefully done up hair piled upon her head. She didn't glance at the interviewer, instead settling herself calmly in to the seat. After she had settled herself, her gloved hands placed across her lap she looked up, and smiled. And as usual, the woman from _Witch Weekly_ flinched away. Daphne had grown used to those responses. The way people stared after they jumped away from her. The way their eyes followed the mess of scar tissue that spread from the curl of her once rosy lips up across her left cheek and up across her eye and eyebrow. She was used to how they focused on the red scars that ruined her once beautiful grey-green eye.

 

She smiled calmly, and waited for them to adjust. Her composure, her control, was always what threw them off and put her in the position of power.

 

“Of course. I'm happy to reach out, speak to the people. So few magazines have been interested in me since I retired.”

 

To her credit, the witch recovered quickly. “Oh no! I wouldn't call it retirement, and neither would our readers! We call it an upgrade! We all know that dealing with the public can be so much more dangerous than dealing with criminals.”

 

Daphne's grin grew, gruesome and terrible. “Oh Really?”

 

 

_The shadows crept around her, pulling at the shadows of her cloak. She was more thankful than ever that George Weasley had donated so many of his so-called Shadow Walkers to the aurors. It had been invaluable on this mission. This mission where so many of them got separated, hunted down in this labyrinth this man called a house._

 

_Holding her wand tightly in her hand, she breathed out slowly. It was just another day at work. Capture the bad guy, get out with your people, survive. That was the system that had kept her alive for six years now. That's all she had to do this time too._

 

 _Stepping out of the shadows, she moved as silently as she could through the halls. The darkness here could aid her as much as hinder, so she decided not to use_ Lumos _to light up the area. After taking down her own share of criminals she had learned when to run a risk in order to receive a bigger reward._

 

_The scuffling of feet around the next corner had her moving quicker. If a teammate was in trouble she was not going to leave them to fight alone. Rounding the corner with her wand raised, Daphne didn't hesitate. Hesitation got you and your partner killed. She fired off a curse, sending the body not robed in the same shadow material like her. A smirk of satisfaction came across her pretty face as the wizard went flying backwards into the far wall._

 

_“Thanks.”_

 

_The unfamiliar voice startled her, and she twisted her wand to point at the stranger pushing back the hood of his stolen cloak. She barely had the time to realize he was their suspect before a spell lashed out at her, striking her across her face. The pain raced through her, her world whiting out as she screamed, clawing at the burning in her eye._

 

_The last thing she heard before the pain consumed her was the sound of footsteps racing her way._

 

 

 

“Amazing. There had been so many reports about your previous success that many wondered how you had been harmed in the line of duty.”

 

“Yes well,” Daphne waved a hand lazily, biting back the phantom pain. “Now you, and I suppose the rest of the world knows. A whole group of aurors brought low by a clever disguise.”

 

The witch nodded sympathetically. “But they caught him, in the end. And you were taken to St. Mungo's. How did you recover so successfully? You seem to be doing so well for yourself, considering the trauma.”

 

 

_The sting of the lights overhead burned her eyes. No, her eye. Daphne groaned, but she didn't feel panic. She knew that she was in St. Mungo's. The bedsheets were familiar in their texture under her hands, the smell was that of medical charms and the small burning smell of overused cleaning spells. Most aurors were familiar with this place for one reason or another._

 

_She was worried about her eye though. She was worried that as the light cleared and she could actually see that her perception was off._

 

_“Daphne?”_

 

_Turning her head slowly, she scowled at the stiffness. In her neck, across the side of her face. She felt the tug of adhesive magic on her lips and cheek and felt a moment of worry. Why were there bandages all across one side of her face?_

 

 _Why did Pansy look so scared and yet relieved at the same time? Why was_ Pansy _sitting beside her bedside?_

 

_“You're awake. I should get the healer.” She stood and moved away before Daphne could ask any questions. Fleeing, like the coward she had always been._

 

 

_Daphne hadn't expected Pansy to return. After the Battle of Hogwarts the woman had fled from Scotland, from the United Kingdom. She had resurfaced a few years later in France, but she had never wrote. She had never wrote to the young woman she had promised to love forever, no matter what their parents planned for them. No matter how the war turned out._

 

_She couldn't lie to herself. Daphne had been heart-broken. And now Pansy was here, waltzing through the door and settling herself down in the seat across from the wounded auror._

 

_“Can they fix your eye?” Was her first question._

 

_“Why, does it offend you?” Daphne snapped back. She turned her head to watch the woman's lips purse up._

 

_“When will you be able to return to work?”_

 

_“I never will.”_

 

_“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Can't they do something like they did for Mad-Eye?”_

 

_“I don't want to.”_

 

_A scandalized hush fell between them, than Pansy looked at her sharply. “Why? Are you afraid?”_

 

 _“No.” Daphne lashed out, pushing herself up out of the bed to stare directly at Pansy. “You think this,” she gestured at her face “would scare me? Compared to our seventh year? Compared to the_ horrors _I've seen? I'm not going back to work, I'm not getting a replacement eye, because I'm Slytherin. Because I'm pureblood and my family didn't side with the light. Because they don't think I deserve the same chances that they give other crime fighters.”_

 

 _“But-But that's not_ fair _!” Pansy wailed, her dark eyes wide and her pouty lips turned in to a horrified frown._

 

_“Big surprise there.”_

 

_They fell in to silence, but for some reason even after that Pansy returned. Every day she would come and sit with Daphne. Sometimes only for lunch, sometimes all day._

 

_“Why do you come here?” Daphne asked one day. Tired, curious, bored. She was searching for answers in Pansy's face, but could never find them._

 

_“Because I want to be here with you stand up. When you leave. I want you to know you're not alone, since Astoria's been out of country. I didn't want you to feel abandoned.”_

 

_Daphne snorted. Odd words coming from miss runaway, but there was a warmth coiling in her heart. A happiness tingling at the back of her mind. A drive to finally get up out of that bed and work on moving with her new sight._

 

 

 _“_ So you've always had a close relationship with Miss Parkinson? Friends in school? Penpals while she attended fashion design classes in France? And she came to visit you in the hospital while you were healing? What a loyal friend?”

 

Daphne smirked, carefully and quickly containing the snort of laughter that built up inside of her. “Loyal, well. That's not a word anyone applies to Pansy, is it?”

 

The interviewer laughed nervously, tapping her quill against the parchment. “Was it in St. Mungo's that she asked you to work for her?”

 

 

“Not exactly.”

 

_Daphne couldn't tell how it happened. How she ended up allowing Pansy to be the one to take her home. How she ended up agreeing to meet Pansy for brunch the next day. Or how after that they attended a ballet, and then went clubbing. She couldn't when she had forgave Pansy for leaving her. Perhaps it had been when Pansy hexed the man who had made heckling remarks towards Daphne's scars. Perhaps it had been when Pansy broke down in tears in her doorway after they encountered a Gryffindor who still hadn't forgotten the cowardness that Pansy had showed in the Battle of Hogwarts._

 

_All Daphne knew for sure was that it had been three months since she had retired from the aurors. Three months where she had spent her days and nights learning what it was like not to draw her wand at every sudden noise, to not be required to see the darkness everywhere. Three months where Pansy had coaxed her slowly but surely back in to the world of the civilians rather than the law._

 

_Three months for her to realize she had no idea what she was going to do in her life. All she had thought of since her seventh year had been being an auror. Now, while she was loaded down with qualifications, she had no job prospects. No where to go._

 

_She started at the feeling of an arm moving away from her back and rolled in the bed to look at Pansy. The woman's face was relaxed, though her eyes were narrowed with concentration as she traced out a new dress and robe combo. She lay there for a bit, watching how the pencil traveled across the paper so smoothly. It was amazing how simple the muggle tool made sketching, what beautiful creations Pansy could draw from her mind._

 

_“Going to tell me how bad this would be to fight in?”_

 

_Daphne smiled slightly, remembering her first unintended insult when she had caught Pansy sketching at a cafe during their shared lunch. “No, I was actually thinking how pretty that is.”_

 

_“Pretty like you or Pretty like me? Because I was actually thinking you'd model this great in the next photoshoot.”_

 

_Blinking, she opened her mouth and closed it again a few times before shaking her head. “Excuse me, what?”_

 

_“I think this would be a wonderful dress for you to model.”_

 

_“What?”_

 

_“Are you going deaf Daphne? I said,” Pansy turned to look at Daphne, taking a moment to study the shocked face of the witch, “you should model this dress for me.”_

 

_“Why?”_

 

_“Because you're beautiful. Because I want you in my clothes as much as I want you out of yours.”_

 

_Daphne blushed a deep red and looked away from the intense eyes of the other woman. “I'll think about it.”_

 

_It had started out like that. Simple. Wearing Pansy's created dresses and robes in private photoshoots that were used as advertisements. And Pansy never shied away from the scars that now dominated Daphne's face. When the photographer suggested posing Daphne so that her face was out of frame, Pansy refused._

 

_“You'll photograph every inch of my outfit, including the way it makes the model feel to wear it, or I will take my business elsewhere.” She had snapped. Then she had walked over to Daphne, gently tilting her head up. “You are amazing. Beautiful. In this dress and out of it. Don't listen to him.”_

 

_And after a while, others started to contact her. Photographers who wanted to do emotional pieces using her features,ring makers who wanted to use her hands for their product. Daphne found herself suddenly going from no work, to an influx that Pansy helped her cut down. That Pansy helped her calm down from when the anxiety and uncertainty came spiraling up and consuming her._

 

_Daphne missed the action of being an auror, the good she did in the world. But this, this was a different good, and she had Pansy curled in their bed every night._

 

 

“Are you happy now? Being the face of a generation?”

 

“I'm happy I can help others feel more comfortable in their skin. I'm happy being in love. With myself.”

 

Daphne stood then, extending an elegant hand to shake the interviewer's hand. “I look forward to reading your piece. Fifteen years after the war I believe you titled it?” She smiled slightly, the scar stretching again, watching as the woman held back another shudder. That would never change, no matter what people tried to hide. “Remember I didn't earn my scars in the war. I'm just the one who had someone fall in love with my wounds.”

 

She turned and stepped back through the floo, smiling as she spoke her destination. In a moment of swirling green she was stepping through in to the foyer of a clothing store, and in to the arms of Pansy.

 

“How'd it go love?” Pansy asked, her arms resting around Daphne's neck.

 

“Oh the usual. How'd you get those scars, how do you live with those scars, how are you so comfortable, oh by the way _your_ the face of the War Torn, not someone who actually fought in it.”

 

“Oh how horrible. Earning a name for yourself.” Pansy teased, her smile sharp as she leaned in for a soft kiss.

 


End file.
